Knots
by JohnnyJumpUp
Summary: Since his Games, Finnick has been unraveling; with every Capitol visit, every subsequent Games, every time he watches another kid from Four die. He's always been good with knots, but he can't keep holding it together. How good is Annie with knots? / I'm not great with catchy summaries. Explores how Annie "crept up" on Finnick. First fic in a WHILE. Please R&R
1. Ch 1: Rolling Hitch

**Ch. 1: ROLLING HITCH**

Finnick let out a weary sigh as the alarm went off. Like most nights, he had barely slept. Like most mornings, he would have loved nothing more than to curl back up and pull the blanket over his head to block out the rest of the world. However, he had a strict schedule to keep today.

It was that time again; Finnick would be sent off to the Capitol to cater to the sexual desires of its select citizens, as President Snow bid him. He'd been at this for years now, but he wasn't sure if it had gotten any easier. On one hand, he had fallen into a bit of a routine with it, so he knew what to expect and what to do. On the other, with every appointment spent in the throes of 'passion' with a Capitolite, Finnick felt hollower, more distant. But it was too early in the morning to dwell on that. He had to pack up and head for the train station. Finnick sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get it some kind of order. He would shower, shave, and properly get ready once he arrived in the Capitol, so that would have to do for now. Besides, it was so early he wouldn't run into anyone; at least, not anyone he felt the need to look nice for.

Within fifteen minutes, Finnick was ready and walking out the front door of his Victor's Village home. He looked out over the little neighborhood: a dozen bungalows, more or less identical, set in two rows facing one another, perched on a cliff. If you didn't think about what it took to make it, it was a great location to live. The cliff overlooked the ocean, but was up out of the way enough to be safe from the tides and storms. There was a path through fragrant natural gardens of lavender, moss roses, yarrow, and verbena leading down to a beautiful beach. Finnick spent a lot of time at the beach; sitting in the sand and tying knots over and over, or swimming out to the nearby cove, or fishing, or free-diving for mussels and oysters. It was on days like today he wanted to be down there more than anything, but he knew he couldn't duck out of going to the Capitol, or even risk being late. The consequences did not bear thinking about.

Finnick was locking his door, taking a moment to make sure he had everything, when he heard another door closing. He turned and peered out over the Victor's Village, searching for the sound's source. His gaze ultimately settled on a house diagonal from his, on the side closest to the cliff face. There, he saw a young woman with long, dark hair making her way to the path down to the beach. Finnick's eyebrows furrowed as he watched her. He'd seen Annie Cresta here and there around the Village since she had come back from her Games and Victory Tour a few years ago. He hadn't helped her on the tour, though he had mentored her some for her Games; she had only wanted Mags to go with her. Finnick could sympathize with that. He could also sympathize with being on the damaged side after surviving the Games, but he hadn't known any other victor to be quite as touched as Annie supposedly was. He guessed that was why she was up so early: unable to sleep due to some episode. It was nearly sun-up, so he figured she was heading to the beach to watch the sun rise. He could also sympathize with that; he had plenty experience finding himself unable to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, and watching the sun rise over the water was one of few things that gave him peace. Finnick watched Annie meander down the zig-zagging pathway until she was out of sight before leaving for the train station.

As he boarded the train, a porter handed Finnick a slip of paper containing his schedule of appointments, sent down the line from President Snow himself. Finnick noticed this was to be a shorter visit than usual: five days instead of a full week. It was a double-edged sword; fewer days in the Capitol, but more appointments per day.

Finnick took a look around the train car: a table with breakfast foods and drinks, some couches and chairs. A really unnecessary pair of chandeliers. He decided to eat before looking the plan over thoroughly. It was important, he'd learned, to really learn the schedule, since he needed to fit time after each client to prepare for the next. Reading it over in advance also told him who he'd be seeing, which helped him ready himself for whatever performances he'd have to put on during his stay. Still, the porter had told him they'd be stopping through District Two and then Seven before making their way to the Capitol, so he knew he had time.

Finnick sat at the table and ate at a leisurely pace, idly sipping coffee and doing his best to eat a healthy amount. He didn't really feel like eating – he never did under these circumstances – but he knew he'd need the energy and that Mags would give him what-for if she found out he didn't eat during his Capitol trips. He had just finished and settled on a couch with his second mug of coffee when the train pulled into the station in Two. They did not linger; they were only picking one person up, and as soon as she was on board they were off. Finnick looked to the door as it slid open and the second passenger joined him.

Everything about Enobaria was dark. Her hair, her eyes, her tan skin, her personality, even her humor when she showed any sense of it. Still, Finnick liked her well enough, he supposed. She was certainly a bit too warlike, but teeth aside, she was an alright companion with whom to commiserate about being whored out by Snow. Enobaria made eye contact with him for a moment before grabbing an apple off the table and unceremoniously flopping down onto a chair, adjacent to the couch Finnick was sitting on.

"Hey." Enobaria sighed.

"Hey." Finnick murmured back, sipping his coffee. They sat in silence for a while before he asked, "Do you know who we're picking up in Seven?"

Enobaria shrugged, sinking her sharp teeth into the apple, "Blight, I think is what the porter said."

Finnick nodded, relieved. If they were making a stop in Seven for another victor for a Capitol visit, it would have to be Blight or Johanna. As much as Finnick got along with Johanna, he didn't think he had the energy for her this time around. Blight kept much more to himself.

"Got your appointment schedule?" Finnick asked. Silence always made these trips feel worse.

Enobaria held up her sheet of paper. "You?"

Finnick held up his. "How's your week look?"

She shrugged again, "Usual. Yours? Anyone special?" She asked with a wry smirk.

Finnick smiled ruefully, "A little busier than normal." He sighed and glanced over the schedule, "Nona Clovar... Elpis Lombard; she's the one with the purple spots… oh! Hippolyta Creech."

Enobaria crinkled her nose and let out a sympathetic scoff, "Isn't she the one with-?" She held up her hands, tensing her fingers to resemble claws.

"Yeah, the five-inch nails."

"And always wears a tiara?"

"Yup…" Finnick sighed, running his hand through his hair. "And let's see…Gallus Hedrick. Eudocia Granger; she's not as bad. Mostly just wants to be told people like her. Uhh…oh," He grimaced, "Caesar Flickerman."

Enobaria groaned, "He's disgusting."

"Yeah…" Finnick shrugged, not wanting to dwell on Caesar Flickerman, whom he loathed entirely. "What about you? Who's buying the pleasure of your company this time?"

Finnick knew that the sorts of people who sought out each victor were different. He mostly got women, and some men, who were middle-aged or a little older, looking to feel young and attractive again. A lot of unhappy, bored house-spouses seeking to unload their emotional issues and rekindle their libido via a living sculpture like himself. He knew that Blight got a lot of clients who weren't looking to be romanced, but rather to be taken wildly; Blight's standoffish demeanor and lumberjack looks appealed to that. Cashmere's takers were generally younger and male; the sort whose personality was too lacking to gain any ground in a real relationship. The really sick clients took Cashmere and her brother, Gloss, together. Finnick knew that Enobaria got clients who were into particularly kinky sex. Leather, bondage, whips, being subjected to some serious pain – the whole package. He supposed it was her black temperament that made her an appealing dominatrix. The teeth couldn't hurt, either.

"Florus Hearn, Agathon Pratt…" Enobaria read aloud, "Myrrine Trask. Ah, Formido Calvert, he's awful. He's enormous and he's got dyed red skin and these awful facial mods." She bit harshly into her apple, "Oh, that couple, the Driscolls. Kallikrates and Iovita."

"Oh, yeah, I've got them down too. When are you supposed to see them?"

"Mm…day three, 21:00."

"Hey, yeah, same." Finnick shook his head, meeting Enobaria's eyes with a wincing smirk, "Looks like they've got an orgy planned again."

Enobaria rolled her eyes, "Must be a special occasion."

It wasn't long before they arrived in District Seven. Just as with Enobaria, as soon as Blight stepped on, they were moving again. And, just as with Enobaria, Blight came into the car with his own sheet of paper. Such was the routine.

Finnick noticed that Blight looked even more haggard than usual. His hair was a mess, he hadn't trimmed his beard in a while, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. Not that many victors slept well, of course.

Blight just stood in the doorway for a little while, his eyes downcast, as though he were in some sort of haze. His left hand twitched slightly, his thumb making a small stroking motion over the handle of a nonexistent axe. After a time, he raised his head and glanced over Finnick and Enobaria. If Blight could emote much anymore, one would be able to note that he considered his companions for this trip acceptable. His gaze settled on the breakfast table, laden with its fruits and pastries and cereals and drinks, and Finnick could see on his face that the same thought process – _I don't feel like eating, but I guess I should_ – was going through Blight's mind, as it had gone through his, and Enobaria's. Blight eventually settled on a piece of toast with raspberry jam, and coffee.

Enobaria, from her chair by the couch, eyed Blight, the slick _crunch_ of her teeth piercing her apple breaking up the silence. The horrible, crushing silence that only gave them time to think about what was ahead of them. The less you thought about it, the better. Finally, "The hell is up with you?"

Blight, from his chair at the table, looked up at her with an incredulous expression, as if that were the stupidest, most obvious question someone had ever asked. _Crunch_.

Knowing that he wouldn't respond further, Finnick then inquired, awkwardly, "So, uh, Blight, we uh…both me and Enobaria have this appointment with the Driscolls on day three…are you on there too?"

Blight gazed, weary, at Finnick for a brief moment before letting out a long sigh as he looked over his schedule. _Crunch._ He then looked up, wearier, and nodded.

Enobaria scoffed, "It must be costing them a fortune to have all three of us there at once." _Crunch._

Finnick gave a noncommittal expression and shrug. He could foresee that this trip, with Enobaria being more hostile and Blight being more withdrawn than usual, was going to be especially rough. When victors made these Capitol visits, they had to stay together in one of the apartments that were, during Hunger Games time, typically used to house tributes and their mentors during training. Finnick figured Snow housed them there because they could be constantly watched, and to keep them thinking about the Games, and how badly they had damaged each of them. To remind the victors that despite their prowess in the arena, that he and he alone had power. That they couldn't escape. Finnick also figured it was to prevent the victors from becoming too fond of one another by forcing them to constantly deal with one another; it's hard to make friends when you're a killer trapped with other killers. The apartment was just another arena. _Crunch._

Finnick felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten. Tension in the train car increased as silence fell heavily on their ears. Blight, Enobaria and Finnick sat in that silence for the remainder of the train ride. Finally, after what felt like forever, they pulled into the Capitol train station. The doors all opened and a small escort of Peacekeepers waited on the platform, but the three victors sat for a few moments, silent and still, none of them wanting to leave the train. Getting off the train meant getting in a car. Getting out of the car meant getting to the apartment. Getting to the apartment meant getting cleaned up and ready. Getting cleaned up and ready meant getting to their appointments. Getting to their appointments meant getting to hate themselves more and more, getting ripped apart and crushed like they never did in the arena. _Crunch_.


	2. Ch 2: Constrictor Knot

**Ch. 2: CONSTRICTOR KNOT**

The first two days came and went with little of interest. Finnick barely saw Blight or Enobaria at the apartment they were sharing, save for the day they arrived, and when they stopped by for a quick shower and touch-up, when their respective schedules allowed enough time for it.

On the third day, he didn't see his temporary roommates at all, though he knew from the schedule that, come 21:00, they'd find each other at the Driscoll's, one way or another. But Finnick would be busy before that. He had two clients in the morning, and one in the early evening. By his calculation, he'd have just enough time to return to the apartment and clean up between the third client and the Driscoll's…party. They'd requested that he wear only black, and, if he wanted, a dark teal. That wasn't unusual; Kallikrates and Iovita Driscoll always made a themed occasion of purchasing a victor – or, in this case, multiple victors – for a night. They'd also sent him a generous length of a scratchy, gilded rope. That was new.

The first three clients came and went with little of interest. A luscious brunch and fingerbang for Antonia; an unceremonious quickie for Gallus; fine wine and cheese followed by spanking and anal for Valentina. Nothing special. Admittedly, Finnick spent his time with them thinking about the night ahead, though his performances wouldn't suggest that his mind was elsewhere. He'd had sex with Enobaria before – fucked and been fucked – but Blight would be new to him. He wondered, as he thrusted in and out of Valentina Merrill, if they'd all be fucking adjacent, or fucking each other. He wondered further, as he smacked his broad hand across her rear and she yelped with delight, if Blight and Enobaria had also been sent little gifts, like his gold rope, in addition to styling requests. Noting that the redness from the spanking combined with her dyed blue-green skin made Valentina's ass appear an odd, muddy shade of brown, Finnick supposed he would just have to wait and see.

After that, Finnick went back to the apartment and, as quickly as he could, washed up and got dressed for the Driscoll's. He had overstayed his time with Valentina – she was a talker – and was worried he'd be late. But as he went down the glistening marble stairs to the Driscoll's basement, he glimpsed a clock and realized he'd be only fashionably late. Finnick also realized, as the lights grew dimmer as he descended, that he'd never been down here before.

Finnick finally came upon an elaborate set of double-doors, all red-veined ivory and onyx, inlaid with gold. He pushed through, and was met with a sight he'd rarely seen, even in all his time being whored out in the Capitol: a veritable sex dungeon. The lighting was reddish, and the floors were black, but so polished they were practically mirrors. Each wall was decorated with pornographic holograms and videoscreens that looped additional obscenities, and as many toys and accoutrements as even Finnick could think of. Plush couches, chairs, and ottomans littered the floors, and the ceiling was dotted with a series of strong-looking gold hooks and rings. And all about the room were Capitolites – male, female, and others in between – in a wide variety of dark, yet somehow garish, lingerie. Finnick wore tight, boxer-brief-esque, scaled black shorts with a deep teal shimmer. His outfit, if it could be so called, seemed classy and modest by comparison, even with the scratchy gold rope wrapped diagonally across his chest.

Finnick's sea-green eyes swept the room – he made sure to wink and blow kisses at every Capitolite he made eye contact with – and finally landed on four people at a large, round, leather ottoman in the center. There, all holding cups of a suspicious-looking dark wine, were Kallikrates and Iovita Driscoll, the gracious hosts themselves, and Blight and Enobaria. Blight's cup was unsipped. He was dressed similarly to Finnick, only in a dark forest green, and with a cat-o'-nine-tails hanging at his hip. Enobaria perched on the ottoman, looking almost impatient in a series of thin, black leather straps and gold rings that resembled, Finnick supposed, a lingerie bodysuit, and a pair of matching shoes with gilded heels so high and thin they could easily be used as weapons. She tossed her long, high ponytail over her shoulder as she and Blight eyed Finnick as he approached.

"Always showing up last. Just have to make an entrance, huh?" Enobaria muttered, taking another sip of the dark red wine.

"You know me," Finnick replied, putting on his winning smile and flirtatious persona. He reached out and gently cupped the Driscolls' faces, one after the other, and kissed them quickly but intimately, "Iovita! Kallikrates! It's been _much_ too long." He ran his hands over their abundant exposed skin simultaneously, using the Capitolite speech patterns he'd picked up over the years. He made a point, however, to maintain his natural Four accent; it was part of his appeal, "I'm _dreadfully_ excited to see what you have in _store_ for the three of us!"

At this, Finnick reached his hands out again, this time to run his fingers through Enobaria's ponytail and to stroke Blight's chest. He couldn't help but notice that Blight was allowed to keep most of his body hair, whereas the vast majority of victors are expected to keep smooth. He supposed it was permitted to add to Blight's rugged, woodsy appeal.

Predictably, at Finnick's touch, Enobaria gave him a lustful, if not somewhat baleful, look and an amused hum. Even more predictably, Blight just looked down at Finnick's fingers trailing through his chest hair, then up into his eyes with a mood that, if you knew how to read him, could only be identified as tired and decidedly unamused. But, after a moment, knowing that he had to put on a good show or face the consequences, Blight mustered up enough fucks to give to grab Finnick's hand and pull him in closer, maintaining intense eye contact. This made the Driscolls and a few others nearby titter and murmur with excitement. Finnick kept his composure, but was nevertheless surprised. With a sincere smirk, he wondered if Blight was about to kiss him or headbutt him.

Fortunately, Iovita cut in before Finnick had to find out the hard way, "Now, now, _boys_ , don't get _too_ worked up yet. We've got something _fun_ planned for all _three_ of you."

" _Yes,_ " Kallikrates chimed in, grinning with his emerald teeth, " _Devilishly_ fun."

Finnick, Enobaria, and Blight shared the briefest of glances. They didn't like the sound of that.

Iovita giggled and continued, "We trust that you two brought your _gifts_?"

Finnick reabsorbed the new, wary feeling in his stomach, and flashed one of his dazzling grins, "Of course," he tugged at the rope suggestively.

"Oh, _magnificent_ ," Iovita said with much excitement, "We've got a special request for–"

Kallikrates cut her off, is voice equally thick with anticipation, "We want you to tie _her_ up."

He pointed to Enobaria, who stiffened as he spoke. Enobaria seemed unusually upset by this proposal. She was called upon by Capitolites who were into this kind of thing all the time. What was her deal, suddenly? This shouldn't be anything new to her.

Externally, Finnick let out an excited hum and another charming smirk, obligingly unwrapping the rope from his chest. Internally, he wondered why Enobaria seemed so on edge.

Despite her discomfort, Enobaria obligingly rose from the ottoman and offered her wrists to be tied. This made the Driscolls laugh.

"No, no, _no_ ," Kallikrates chortled.

"We want you to tie her up all _over_ ," Iovita finished.

Finnick instantly knew what they meant. He let the length of the rope out, and with some of Blight's help, wrapped and tied it about Enobaria's body until he made a neat rope corset from shoulders to hips, with her wrists tied behind her back. From the perspective of the Capitolites around the room, who watched eagerly, the golden rope bondage looked both elegant and erotic, but from up close, Finnick and Blight could see the rough material scratching and scraping at Enobaria's dark skin, and the uneasiness behind her eyes.

The Driscolls clapped enthusiastically, "Yes, _excellent!_ Now _up, up, up!"_

The three victors exchanged another look, "Up?" Finnick asked.

Kallikrates produced another, thicker rope and looped it over one of the hooks in the ceiling, just above the ottoman. He held it out to Finnick, "Up she goes!"

Finnick hesitated – briefly, as to only be noticed by his fellow victors – but secured the rope to the knots at the front of Enobaria's hips, and hoisted her into the air. She dangled from the rope, in an oddly graceful arch, long ponytail hanging down toward the floor. She bared her sharpened teeth a bit. The rope corset and repositioning shifted the leather straps of her bodysuit, exposing Enobaria's breasts and her hairless vulva. Finnick looked at Blight. He seemed worried; as if he knew something Finnick didn't.

"Blight, dear," Iovita cooed as she and her husband stroked Blight's cock through his shorts, causing him to jump almost imperceptibly, "The _cat_."

Finnick couldn't stop his brows from shooting up. Now that he had tied and suspended Enobaria, the Driscolls and their ravenous guests wanted to see Blight use the cat-o'-nine-tails they'd given him to whip her? It seemed oddly cruel, even for the Capitolite elite.

Blight hesitated – noticeably – and made prolonged eye contact with Enobaria, who looked more and more wild and anxious by the moment, with her teeth flashing. But they both knew they had to put on a show. Blight raised the cat-o'-nine-tails and brought it down, lashing across Enobaria's thigh.

Enobaria let out a muffled cry. The Capitolites, who had since begun fondling and kissing each other salaciously, mistook it for a cry of arousal, and let out their own aroused moans in turn. But Finnick immediately recognized it as distressed. He watched Blight hit Enobaria again and again, and listened to her cry out again and again, wanting to stop it but knowing he couldn't without getting the three of them, and others besides, in trouble.

Finnick's thoughts were broken by the feeling of a hand on his cock. He looked down, surprised, to see Kallikrates on his knees, stroking Finnick up and down through his shorts while his face was buried in Iovita's groin.

" _Finnick_ ," Iovita said breathlessly as she watched more and more red, burning welts appear across Enobaria's skin, "You simply _must_ ensure that Enobaria experiences some _pleasure_ in addition to _pain!"_ She tugged at Kallikrates's hair as she said this, pulling his face closer.

Finnick locked eyes with Enobaria, who silently pleaded him for help, then put on another fake smirk and forced an aroused purr, "You're _absolutely_ right."

He stepped around Blight and positioned himself between Enobaria's splayed legs. The suspension had her hips right at level with his face. As Blight continued to lash her and she continued to cry out, Finnick mimicked Kallikrates and buried his face between Enobaria's thighs, working his fingers in and out of her as he lavished her clit with his tongue. From this spot, Finnick looked over at Blight; Blight still maintained his stoic mask, but if you watched very carefully, you could see him wince each time he hit Enobaria. Finnick looked up at Enobaria; he couldn't see her face well, but he could tell she was also keeping up the façade for the Capitolites, despite the glances she stole at her fellow victors. Finnick looked around the room as best he could at the Capitolites; they kissed and licked and fucked one another to the sound of leather slashing at flesh, and to the sound of Enobaria's whimpers. It was all disgusting. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

The Driscoll party lasted several hours. Enobaria was tied up for most of it, and continued to be hit by Blight, and then, at the hosts' insistence, by Finnick, and then by anyone else who wanted a turn. After a while, Enobaria was lowered and untied, but all three of them were immediately expected to take part in the orgy around them. When the Driscoll's time was finally up, the three victors still made sure to leave with good graces and promises of _oh I'll miss you terribly_ and _we simply must do it again_. Well, Finnick and Enobaria did; Blight added curt, polite nods but still said nothing. But as soon as they were in the car, with its tinted glass, their facades fell, and they rode in discomfort, shame, and silence back to the apartment.

Their Avoxes led them up and deposited them inside with a bow, but as soon as they left, Enobaria rounded on Blight, narrowly missing his head with a large vase,

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?" She screamed, snarling with her pointed teeth, "How could you do that!? How could you let them do that to me!?"

She rushed toward Blight as she shouted, ponytail flying, and beat her fists against his chest. He made no attempt to move or to stop her.

Finnick couldn't wrap his head around what he was seeing. Enobaria was specifically chosen by Capitolites who wanted kinky stuff like that. None if it should have been new to her. His confused reverie was broken when Enobaria pointed at him accusingly,

"And you! You did nothing! You could've stopped them!" She leaned toward Finnick, as if starting to rush at him next, but Blight put an arm loosely about her waist, holding her back, "Let go of me! Let _go!_ "

Finnick now noticed that there were tears in her eyes. Then he remembered: during her Games, days before she ripped out her last competitor's throat, Enobaria had been ensnared in a net by another tribute. He had beaten her within an inch of her life with a stick, and she only managed to escape when a muttation jumped down on the boy from a tree above, giving her the chance to untangle herself and flee. Finnick realized that, for all her ferocity, even Enobaria had her triggers and things she just couldn't handle, like every other victor. That since her Games, Enobaria was accustomed to playing the dominatrix, but never the submissive.

As he watched Blight pull Enobaria in tighter, slowly working her into an embrace as she screamed at and hit him, it dawned on Finnick that Blight must have known this about her already. That must have been why he had seemed concerned. Finnick felt sure that the Driscolls knew this too, somehow. Maybe Snow had told them. He just wasn't sure what Enobaria had done to earn Snow's wrath this week.

Finnick figured he'd never find out, as he watched Blight hold Enobaria close and gently rest his chin on the top of her head as she sobbed angrily into his chest. She still beat her fists on him, albeit with significantly less force.

"Shhh," Blight murmured to her, his face still somehow stoic and impassive, "I know."

Finnick realized he'd never seen Enobaria cry before, nor had he ever heard Blight's voice.


	3. Ch 3: Carrick Bend

**Ch. 3: CARRICK BEND**

It was close to sunset. It wasn't until Finnick looked up and out over the water that he realized he must have been sitting there in the sand, weaving, for hours. The waves, which had been a few feet out when he'd started, were now brushing the tips of his toes. He slowly straightened his back and neck, tipping his head this way and that to stretch it out. Being doubled over the ropes had made him stiff and sore. Finnick winced as he flexed his fingers and massaged each knuckle, even sorer from the precise, repetitive movements required to weave a net. He sighed and looked down at his work. A large net for sure, but not as much weaving as he was usually able to do in that amount of time.

"Did you finish your net?"

Finnick turned, much too quickly for his stiff neck, at the sound. Not an unfamiliar voice, but certainly an unexpected one. "Cresta?"

"Annie." She said, gathering her hair over one shoulder, "Have you finished your net?"

Finnick looked down at the tangle of rope in his lap, taken somewhat aback, "Ah…no, I, uh…" He found himself at a bit of a loss. Annie Cresta had never really talked to him, or anyone, much, let alone spontaneously like this. He didn't know Annie well, but he did know that she had sort of lost it during her Games. As such, she kept to herself for the most part, only ever reaching out to Mags occasionally. And no one ever reached out to Annie, Finnick included.

"What's it for?" She asked. Finnick looked her over, still a bit fuddled. She was wearing a cream-colored blouse with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows and tucked into a flowing brown skirt that fell just below her knee. She was barefoot, and holding a small basket. Finnick noticed that, on her way down to the beach from Victor's Village, she had picked some of the wildflowers and woven their stems into the handle of the basket. That threw him off for some reason, and his brows furrowed as he continued to observe her. Annie's soft, sugar cube voice broke his reverie: "I see you weaving down here a lot. What do you need so many nets for?"

"I, uh…" Finnick shrugged and shook his head, looking at the net again, "I don't. Don't need them, I mean. I just…" It was true; Finnick weaved a new net at least once a week, but he didn't need them. One man didn't need more than two or three nets if he wasn't selling his catches. Finnick had one fishing net and one backup, in case the one he used ripped or was swept out by the water. But he kept weaving. He just kept making more nets. It was almost subconscious for a while: almost every day, he'd go down to the beach, sit in the sand, and weave for a few hours. It wasn't until he noticed that he had a net draped over every single piece of furniture in his house that he even realized he'd made so many. Finnick realized he was doing it because it was something he could control and concentrate on. Something that could take his mind off the horrible things he'd seen and done and will do. But he also realized he couldn't just fill his home with nets. So, whenever he finished a new one, he'd go down to the docks once the boats had come back in and leave the net on a random deck. He tried to pair the best nets with the boats that looked like they were in the roughest shape. That way, he could keep weaving to keep himself calm, and the nets would get used.

"I just…weaving gives me something to do, I guess." Finnick shrugged again, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. He looked up at her again, with a raised brow, "What- what are you doing here?"

Annie smiled slightly; a sort of sad, wistful smile. She sat with a gracefulness that surprised Finnick, settling down beside him and wiggling her toes into the sand, "I came to watch the sunset."

"O-oh…" Finnick murmured, unsure of what to say or do with himself. Why was Annie talking to him?

Annie gazed out over the water, smiling, seemingly in a bit of a delirium. Finnick sat there, hands and eyes lost in the rope, trying to figure out his next move. Or hers. What do you say to someone who's all messed up in the head like she supposedly was? Victors generally commiserate about the Games together, but Finnick knew that bringing them up would send her into one of her fits. What did the two of them have to talk about otherwise?

"Are you hungry?" Annie asked suddenly, almost causing Finnick to jump.

It didn't occur to him until she asked, but he was hungry. He hadn't eaten since that morning, and even then it hadn't been much. Some mornings, especially after a night fraught with nightmares, he found it hard to eat breakfast. "Ah, yeah, I guess."

Annie smiled gently at him, then turned to reach into her basket. She produced an apple, a seaweed bun, and a bundle containing dried smoked fish. Just typical Four stuff, but Finnick was oddly pleased about the options. He took a strip of the dried fish, and ripped a piece off with his teeth. Dried fish had to be chewed thoroughly before it could be comfortably swallowed, so he wouldn't be expected to talk for a while. So they sat in the sand in silence, with the surf rushing to reach out and touch their feet, then rushing back in retreat, like a child playing a game. They both looked out over the water, where the bottom edge of the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon. The sky blazed orange and pink around it, a sight made ever more brilliant as it was reflected off the glassy, dark ocean. A lot of people like to watch the dusks at the beach for the colors. Finnick, too, liked watching the sun set over the water, but not for the sky. Instead, he liked how the ocean seemed to grow darker and darker as the sun sank lower, going from a bright blue to a deep blue-green, then almost black, with silver streaks of moonlight dancing across the waves, like a vast piece of obsidian shining in the light.

The sun was about halfway set when Annie broke their silence again, "Some stories say that the sun and moon used to live on the land, but the ocean forced them into the sky."

Finnick's features crinkled with confusion, "What?"

"The sun and moon got married, and built a house on the land. They invited their friend, the ocean, to visit, but he was so large he flooded the house, so the sun and moon had to climb up onto the roof. And that's how they got into the sky."

"Huh." Finnick mused, unsure of how else to respond.

Annie continued, "Another story says that the moon and the ocean were in love, but the sun grew jealous and moved the moon far away, among the stars. The ocean wishes to be with her again, so when the moon comes out at night, the tides rise; that's the ocean trying to reach the moon."

Finnick nodded. Where was all this coming from? Where the hell was she getting these stories? Did she actually read or hear about them from someone else, or was she making them up, spinning tales from her fractured mind? Regardless, he supposed they were nice enough stories.

"And a different story says that the ocean gave birth to the sun. But the sun burns so hot and bright that it can only live for one day. So, the ocean reabsorbs it every night, then gives birth to it again every morning." Annie said, trailing her fingers aimlessly through the sand.

They sat in silence again for a while. After a few minutes, the silence was broken again, but this time by Finnick, "I hear a lot of people – especially fishermen – argue about whether or not the ocean is a loving god or a cruel god."

Annie drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, resting the side of her head on her knees, gazing at him. Her green eyes were curious, and oddly calm, Finnick thought. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"Some people think that, overall, the ocean is loving and a giver of life. It provides fish and seaweed and shells and mussels and all manner of good things. It needs to be respected, but it loves humans and wants to give us everything. But then some people think the ocean is angry and belligerent, or like some petulant child. It throws storms and whirlpools and waves at us, and tries to drown people with tricky currents and riptides. It's beautiful but it's dangerous; it has to be fought to get anything out of it. Like humans are in a constant war with it because it's trying to destroy us."

Annie hummed quietly as she mused over these new stories, watching the ocean again. After a little while, she looked at Finnick again and asked, "So what do you think? Do you think the ocean is kind, or cruel?"

The sun had just slipped below the horizon. He took a moment to consider. "Worse," Finnick sighed, "I think the ocean is indifferent."


	4. Ch 4: Offset Figure-Eight Bend

OFFSET FIGURE-EIGHT BEND

Finnick remembered when he first met Annie. He was nineteen, and it was five years after his Games. He stood up on the stage, with Mags and the male Victor before Finnick – still alive at the time – and with Four's sickeningly colorful escort. She reached her hand, with its long, studded nails and rings upon rings, into a glass bowl and pulled a blue slip of paper. Finnick was barely listening when the escort announced, all too gleefully,

"Annie Cresta!"

He let out a weary, almost bored, sigh, and looked out into the crowd as a slip of a girl with brown hair and sea-green eyes made her way forward. She was lovely, he thought; a true Four beauty. But he could tell right away, as she walked up the steps to the stage on her skinny legs, that she was going to die.

What a lot of people didn't understand about Career districts is that they didn't send volunteer Tributes every year. The kids who volunteer are still, statistically, few and far between, and often waited until they felt they'd hit the peak of their training to volunteer. This left gaps, to be filled by kids being Reaped the old-fashioned way. Hence, Annie.

Some boy after her got called – Gil, maybe? – and made his way up. The escort wished them luck. They were all whisked away into the Justice building, and, a few hours later, to the train to the Capitol.

Throughout training, Annie was quiet, and she almost exclusively worked with Mags. Finnick wondered, when he watched her here and there, how many times Annie's name had been in that bowl. He wondered what kind of family she was leaving behind. He wondered if she had friends who missed her. He wondered if she ever worked on a boat, if she liked to read, if she'd ever swam out to Lover's Cove with a boy, if she liked her oysters by themselves or with ground horseradish. But every time he caught himself wondering, he knew it didn't matter. Because Annie was going to die.

With his Capitol-perfected, winning smile, Finnick lied through his freshy-straightened, pearly teeth as he told Annie and the boy – Gault? – that if they just kept a level head, were cautious, and remembered their training, they'd be fine.

Finnick figured the boy – Gordon? – had a chance. The kid was one of the older Tributes that year, and though wiry, he was tall enough to potentially intimidate the others. And he was fast; maybe fast enough to just get away and hide, and avoid conflict. But he was sure Annie was going to die. She wasn't particularly strong, or skilled, or ferocious. She had none of the key features of a winning Tribute.

Finnick went to the parties with potential sponsors once the Games started, as he was expected to do. Unfortunately, he had to go it alone; Mags never went to these kinds of things anymore, and no one from the Capitol expected to see her, because she wasn't young and beautiful and fuckable, like Finnick. At these parties, he watched the Games go on with the Capitolites. But he barely payed attention. He knew his Tributes didn't have much of a chance this year, and he preferred not to watch two kids from Four, just like him, get slaughtered, just like he could have been.

But on the fourth day, while Finnick was obligingly watching the Games at yet another party, he watched the boy die.

It happened very abruptly. By coincidence, Annie and the boy were in the same area of the arena, across a river from one another. He'd made an alliance with the girl from One, but he had since spent the last eighteen hours fleeing her after she'd turned on him. Annie had been hiding. They both had made a break for the river to get water. From across the bank, they made eye contact. For a moment, they felt almost at ease. Two kids from Four at the water.

Their moment was cut short when the girl from One, having tracked the boy, sprung up from behind a rock, and beheaded him from behind. It made Finnick jump, and drop his Capitol persona to drop his drink and cover his mouth, stifling a gasp. His heart sank as Annie dropped to her knees and screamed. She screamed louder and with more anguish than Finnick had ever heard before.

Annie ran from the river and into the forest. They didn't see her again for another three days, when the Gamemakers flooded the arena.

A day and a half after that, Finnick boarded a hovercraft. They told him Annie was the last one alive; they only knew because of her tracker. No one had seen her since the incident at the river. But when they steadied the craft over the deep water, Finnick looked out of the bay door and saw her there. Annie Cresta, treading over what had been the river. They couldn't get the net under her to bring her up. _Landlubbers_ , Finnick thought with spite. They had to lower him down on a line.

Annie started screaming again – with all the fear and horror as before – as soon as Finnick put his arm around her. She tried to pull away from him, but she was so weak. They hoisted them up, and Finnick deposited her on the floor of the hovercraft. Annie kept screaming. Finnick reached his hand out, to settle it gently on her back, hoping to comfort her. But he hesitated, just a few inches away, and withdrew his hand.

Annie kept screaming.


End file.
